Books of Magic
by ElnaKernor
Summary: HP one-shots and first chapters: 1) Peter Pettigrew came back to himself at the mercy of Sirius Black 2) first chapter of Unclaimed Darkness 3) Sirius has blood on his hands, but he's not a monster
1. Trial of a rat

_Hello there! This will be a collection of Harry Potter one-shots and first chapters._

 _It's highly possible that Sirius will be present, in one way or another, in most of these. He's, after all, my favorite character._

* * *

 _Sirius gets a wand while staking out Hogwarts, and collects himself enough to handle the Pettigrew case more efficiently._

* * *

 _This is probably the only time I will ever write something so lengthy from Peter's POV, because I don't like him._  
 _I hope you'll appreciate that I didn't turn him into a purely evil character, though._

* * *

 **Trial of a rat**

Peter came back to himself in a state of utter confusion.

He could feel his limbs, but he couldn't move. It was as if he had been stupefied, but without falling to the ground as a result. He certainly couldn't feel the ground, or anything else for the matter, pressing against his cheek. For all he knew, he could have been floating mid-air, because with his shoes on, no matter how derelict they were these days, he couldn't feel if he was standing on something or not. In fact, the only thing he was certain of, was that he wasn't head down, feet up, because then he'd be able to tell with all the blood rushing where it wasn't supposed to be, and the subsequent headache...

Peter almost gasped as he realized something. Almost, because he wasn't able to move at all. So obviously, gasping wasn't possible.

But it wasn't what worried him the most right now. What worried him the most right now was that he could feel his cheeks, his feet, and not his fur, his paws. In other word, he was in human form, he wasn't Wormtail anymore.

He was recognizable as Peter Pettigrew, and tied up with some spell, and not undiscernable as a rat amongst dozens of other rats. Someone had found him, had turned him back to human state, and had tied him up. Someone who knew who Wormtail, or Scabbers as of late, really was, because people didn't actually shoot animagus reversal spells at random animals.

And there were only two living people who knew about his animagus form. And there was only one person who knew him to be alive.

And no matter which one found him, Peter would suffer.

Of course, Peter'd rather be found by Remus than by Sirius.

Various reasons to that.

First of all, while Remus might hand him over to the Ministry, and then, direction Azkaban right away, the werewolf may listen to his story first, whereas Sirius already knew the story, and wouldn't bother with Azkaban. And Peter would rather go to Azkaban, and get a chance to escape at some point. Even if he had no idea how he'd do that, because he wasn't Freaking Sirius Black, and even if his animagus form would be a better mean to pass undetected than Sirius', Remus would tell the Ministry about his ability, and then they would make it so that he wouldn't be able to escape as a rat. Still, the good point of the Azkaban scenario was that it'd give him some time, and more opportunities to get the hell out of Dodge. Unlike being dead. Because being dead ended the story, definitively. And Peter had no doubt Sirius would put an end to his life if he found him.

Whether or not there'd be some torture involved before the execution was still under consideration.

Next reason, because if Remus would be downright hateful and would never forgive him, Peter's former friend wasn't as frightening as his other former friend. In the grand scheme of things, Peter's worst fear was the Dark Lord, some of his most insane followers, like Bellatrix and Crouch Jr., and then Sirius. But it was only because the firsts didn't care about him, and would have gotten rid of him without even thinking about it twice if the fancy took them. But they were locked away, dead, or missing-in-a-far-away country right now. Sirius, on the other hand, was nearly onto him, maybe he even had him. And if Sirius wasn't crazy like the Dark Lord and his followers, though Peter was still considering that too, with all the years in Azkaban and everything; even if he wasn't that kind of insane... Sirius was, perhaps, more frightening than even the Dark Lord, at least for Peter. Because Sirius had always been a dangerous person. Only, Peter had never been on the wrong side of Sirius Black, not until that fateful Halloween night. Because Sirius was here, unlike the Dark Lord. Because Sirius would not hesitate to make him pay, when the Dark Lord didn't care.

The Dark Lord might have been the most terrifying individual, years ago, and Peter may have stayed in rat form for all these years for fear of being discovered by his followers, but it had nothing to compare with being the only person on Sirius Black's black list. Years ago, Peter had known that if he didn't betray his friends, he had no chances of survival. But years ago, Sirius hadn't know about his betrayal. And years ago, that betrayal hadn't cost Sirius Black everything, not yet.

And now, Sirius was out, and searching for him.

And now, Peter's body was unresponsive, and tied up by some spell, and it could be Sirius who had made all that happen.

The man's heart was beating faster and faster. He knew this feeling. It was fear.

Peter couldn't hear a thing, except some shuffling of a robe on the ground not to far away. He tried to open his eyes.

Which resulted in absolutely nothing, because he had been blindfolded.

Which was never a good thing.

Peter could barely hear anything else than his own heartbeats, at this point.

A few minutes passed in silence, during which he felt himself becoming more and more nervous, more and more frightened, always imagining a worse situation.

Then he heard a voice, and his heart missed a beat.

"Peter. Long time no see."

Sirius.

The fact that he was still alive wasn't reassuring at all, despite the paradox it may sound like. Because Peter had always been sure Sirius would kill him on the spot if he got out of Azkaban, which he had done, and if he found him, which he had also done. But Sirius was here, his friend had him at his mercy, and Peter was still alive.

While Peter liked his life enough to sell his friends to the Dark Lord, he wasn't very fond of torture. And if Sirius hadn't killed him yet, he was surely planning to skin him alive.

Or something of the sort, anyway.

Sirius might not have shared his family's views, and he might have been more controlled than his insane cousin Bellatrix, he was still a Black. Never forgiving, never forgetting, and compromising only when they had a reason to.

Peter had nothing to offer against his continued survival, and his actions certainly didn't fall under any of the categories that could have saved his life. Sirius may be incredibly tolerant, even if he didn't always show it, but there were a few things he would never be tolerant about.

There was no point pleading his case with Sirius, even if he hadn't outright killed him. With Remus, at least, Peter might have gathered some pity points.

"I'll explain the rules, Peter. You can scream all you want, no one will hear you and come to your help, but obviously, I'd like it better if you could not scream at all."

Well, for now, Peter wasn't about to scream at all. Not only was he hexed into immobility, but he also couldn't say a word. His lips were unmovable. Which made sense if he had been stupefied, but still.

Hadn't he been at the mercy of a former friend whom he had betrayed in the worst possible ways, Peter may have wondered why Sirius insisted on rules. As it was, his mind was too terrified to go there.

"I stupefied you and blindfolded you, so I think it'd be fair of me to tell you where you are now. You, my old friend, are standing rigid in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. There are acromantulas, as you know well, to the North, and Hogwarts is miles away. I have put up various runic wards, so even if we were to be interrupted, I'd have more than enough time to apparate both of us away. Also, no sound inside these wards will be heard out of them."

Peter forced himself to calm down. Or, at least, to try and calm down.

It was something difficult to do when your very dangerous and betrayed friend whom you had framed years ago had found you and had you at their mercy.

Especially since Sirius sounded somewhat sane. Sane Sirius meant harder-to-deceive Sirius, and less chances to get the hell away. Sane Sirius was very observant, very intelligent, and very focused on not losing his pray, Peter would bet. Whereas obsessed Sirius would have at least lost some of his observation skills.

In a dark and frightened corner of his mind, Peter wondered how came Sirius sounded so sane, when his last attempt to get him, during Halloween, had been frantic and furious enough to slash the Fat Lady several times.

Since his escape, and even before that, since his jailing in Azkaban, Peter doubted his former friend had eaten enough. He doubted Sirius had gotten enough sleep. And being on the run had to be exhausting. For Sirius to be able to concentrate on not being too obsessed, because it was the more likely attitude to get caught, he'd have to be at least somewhat not-starving, not-sleep-deprived...

But other things bothered Peter, right now, and anyway, he doubted he'd ever get the answers to his questions. So he left it at that.

"Now, Peter, I will allow you to speak. And we will have long, civil conversation. Like two old friends who found each other again and wish to know how life has been treating them lately. You'll tell me about betrayal and framing, I'll tell you about suffering and revenge. What do you think?"

There was a silence, as if Sirius was waiting for an answer.

But Peter still couldn't speak, and there was no way his former friend had forgotten about that.

"Oh, right."

There was a short incantation that Peter didn't know, and the prisoner started to feel something in his body. Like a vague of warmth, which didn't linger. A temporary comfort, at best. Then it was back to the freezing cold in his flesh and bones.

"Better now?"

Peter's jaw twitched a bit, and he understood that, if he couldn't move, he could speak again. It was as if the spell on him had fallen, but only on his face.

"Si... Sirius..."

Then Peter realized he didn't know what to say. There was nothing he could say to defend himself than wouldn't be a lie, which Sirius would detect, and that his former friend would be willing to listen to. Begging for his life wouldn't change a thing either with Sirius. And if he said how sorry he was that it had turned out this way, which was true, Sirius might just get angrier, because "Sorry" couldn't erase what had happened.

It wasn't as if Peter had wanted all this to turn out like it had. At first, he had only wanted to save his hide. An attempt that had taken a turn for the worst.

There was a silence.

Peter could imagine Sirius standing over there, probably leaning against a tree, with an arched eyebrow. It was how it'd have happened, had they been fifteen years ago.

But now, Peter knew the scene wouldn't look the same. Even admitting that, perhaps, Sirius was leaning against a tree, only to play with his nervosity, it wouldn't change the fact that they looked nothing like before. Peter hadn't been in human form in some time, but he knew his clothes had to be ragged. He had gotten fat. He had lost hair. And more important, he was lacking a finger.

A finger which he had used to frame Sirius, amongst other things.

Peter had seen the wanted picture of his former friend at the Weasleys'.

A photograph of Sirius Black, calmly leaning against a wall of Azkaban, just like Peter imagined him to be leaning against a tree right now. Only skin and bones, paler than ever, dark and dirty hair falling in a mess upon his shoulders. A strand of black hair falling on his face. A frozen shadow of a long-forgotten smile. Sunken cheeks. And two eyes, burning with rage, freezing with revenge. Two silver strikes looking at the photographer, on the other side of the bars, accusingly disdainful.

For someone like Peter, who knew Sirius Black, it was easy to see past the hearsay of madness. And for Peter especially, who knew the true story of Sirius Black's guilt, it was obvious what his former friend was accusing the world of doing.

What Sirius was accusing him of.

Sirius broke the silence after a time.

"Well, nothing more to say?"

The man's voice was broken, a little raspy from not being used enough, but he still sounded clear to Peter's ears. There was sarcasm, hidden deep in this voice, and enough hatred to burn the United Kingdom.

"In this case, I'll be starting."

Peter heard someone walking to him, and unless Sirius had found a way to make friends since his escape from Azkaban, which was unlikely, it had to be his former friend. His suspicions were confirmed when Sirius' voice rang again, louder than before, even if he hadn't spoken any louder. Sirius was simply nearer.

"There's a reason for the blindfold, obviously. You see, Peter, there isn't much to see in Azkaban. Sure, you can actually see the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the bars, the prisoner in the cell across the corridor, the guard who gets you your... let's say food, and not meals. And the occasional dementor, of course. But there isn't really anything to see. And you feel much despair, thanks to our beloved dementors. Yes, them again. Incredible, they are everywhere, you wouldn't believe me. Eitherway, I've heard that wearing a blindfold while in a position of danger is a good way for fear to settle in. So, taking into consideration both the lack of sight and the despair, I concluded it'd be the most effective way to make you feel like you are where you belong, without actually calling in a dementor. They're lovely and all, but for now they are a bit too focused on Kissing me. Which wouldn't do at all."

Sirius stopped talking for a time, and Peter thought he heard the clink of a bottle being lifted carelessly from a rock. With the state Sirius' voice was in, he wasn't exactly surprised that his former friend took breaks to drink a bit. What confused him was where the escapee had found a bottle. Padfoot or no Padfoot, Peter doubted Sirius could just get inside the castle as he wanted.

"My point, now. The blindfold is me being cruel, but I think you deserved it. At least for the time of a long-overdue conversation."

"And what... what next, Sirius? Once the conversation is over?"

Peter wasn't sure he wanted an answer to that question, but he was pretty sure Sirius would tell him at some point. One way or another, hints or no hints. And even if he didn't warn him beforehand, the conversation would end at some point. And then, Peter would know.

"Then it is over, Peter. Like it should have been twelve years ago, when I caught up to you in that street. When I'll loose the blindfold, Peter, it will be over for you."

The extreme calmness of Sirius' voice wasn't soothing Peter's nerves. So matter-of-fact, it only made it sound more ominous. There would be no hesitation.

If Peter wanted to make it out alive, he'd have to free himself before the blindfold fell. Which was easier said than done.

Peter didn't want to die.

"What... do you want to... talk about?"

So he was stalling.

He was pretty sure Sirius knew exactly what he was trying to do, but it wouldn't deter him from trying. After all, if there was one thing Peter was good at, it was saving his own hide.

"Oh, you know, nothing too serious. Or, many things, but we won't have the time for all of them, I fear. I was thinking of starting simply, with how you should have spent the last twelve years in Azkaban instead of me. Tell me, Peter, how does it feel to be a traitor?"

The calmness had disappeared, turning into a sharp edge. Sirius still controlled himself, better than most people in time of stress, and certainly better than Peter, but his former friend could tell it would only take one wrong answer to make him explode.

Now, while it may have given Peter an opportunity to escape, he still was hexed into immobility, and saw absolutely no way out of that. Besides, it was more probable for Sirius to just become violent, possibly deadly, than for him to make a mistake big enough that Peter would be able to use it.

Peter certainly wasn't going to anger Sirius on purpose when it was almost certain that he'd manage to do it at some point, no matter what, because he had already done enough in his life to deserve that anger.

"I didn't... Sirius, I didn't do it on purpose, you have to kn... to know that..."

His voice was shaky, and Peter couldn't do a thing about it.

"Right. But you still did it, my friend. Be happy that I'm at least giving you a mock trial. I didn't get one, myself, and I was innocent. Be happy, Peter."

Peter heard his former friend take a step back. He could imagine him, squinting slightly in the darkness of the Forbidden Forest, his eyes two slits of rightful hatred.

"Alright. If you could please give me your whole name, Peter, so that we can begin this trial?"

If he had been able to, Peter would have frozen at that moment. With what he had done, to the Order, to Sirius, to James and Lily, there was no way Sirius would be mocking him right now. Sirius could do a lot of things, including remaining apparently calm no matter the situation, as long as he was in good enough health. But mocking Peter's crimes, it wasn't something the Sirius Black he knew would, or could do.

So either Sirius had changed a lot during his years in Azkaban and had lost his mind a bit, or he had something planned. And given the circumstances, it could only be something cruel. A fitting epilogue for the traitorous Marauder, before a grand ending that would fall into death.

Each word Peter would say could be turned against him, if he wasn't careful.

But Peter didn't care, at that point. Because Sirius was going to get his way no matter how careful he was with his words. His former friend was like that, and Peter knew he was out of his league.

So he'd rather focus on trying to do something, anything, to get away.

Which meant, for now, stalling.

"Why do you... want... me to say my name? It's just the two of us, Sirius..."

The answer he got was colder than before.

"You lended me twelve years in Azkaban, and you sold James and Lily to Voldemort, Peter. If I want us to pretend this is the trial that should have happened, considering I hadn't blown you to smithereens at some point, obviously, if I want it, you indulge me."

Peter shivered as he heard the name of the Dark Lord, and for a moment he didn't say a thing.

"Indulge me, Peter."

The prisoner gulped.

"My... My name is Pe... Peter Pettigrew."

"Good. Now, do you know what you are being accused of?"

The edge in Sirius' voice had almost disappeared again, even if Peter could say it was underlying in the fake cheerfulness that had taken its place.

For a moment, he was tempted to play dumb.

Then he remembered it was Sirius, and not Remus, who had him tied up in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. There was no point in trying to lie, at least not about the facts. Sirius knew too much to be fooled; what he didn't know for sure, he certainly had guessed, and guessed right at that.

If anything, he should be honest about the parts he was sure Sirius knew.

"I sold Harry to Voldemort and I got the blame to fall on you."

"You sold the Potters to Voldemort, and you framed an innocent friend with your crimes. But that's not all you did, isn't it, Peter?"

"I don't know... I don't know what you're talking about, Sirius..."

"Of course you do. Think again, Peter. Who else than James, Lily, Harry, and myself, did you betray? Whose blood do you have on your hands, Peter?"

Peter took a deep breath, not for comfort, obviously, but because he could tell that Sirius would wriggle everything and anything out of him, and because that was going to hurt.

He hadn't wanted people to die because of him. He hadn't wanted to sell the members of the Order to the Dark Lord. He hadn't wanted to be a freaking mole.

But it had been them, or him. And Peter did not want to lose his life. And he certainly didn't want to be tortured for information. He knew he'd have broken, one day or another, so what was the point in stalling? He wasn't James, brave and loyal. He wasn't Remus, convinced of his own worthlessness. He wasn't Sirius, ready to endure anything if only to prove someone wrong.

He was just Poor, Poor Peter Pettigrew.

He would have been broken, at some point. And Bellatrix and her goons would have gotten their intel, in the end. They'd have killed the members of the Order all the same.

So why should he have suffered beforehand?

Peter hadn't wanted to be a traitor. But he had been given a choice between life and death, between betrayal and suffering. He had chosen life and betrayal.

And Sirius would make sure that he'd suffer for his choice.

"Benjamin Fenwick. And Martha... Glenhill, whom we were protecting in the shadows. And I... I told your cousin about the Bones' party."

What he got for his honesty was a sarcastic comment full of acid. A comment that reminded him too much of Bellatrix Lestrange, when he went and reported to her.

"Good boy, Pettigrew! So you were the one to tell them about Glenhill. I hadn't been sure until now. But at least, you didn't sell the Prewett Brothers. Don't worry, Peter, I don't hold you responsible for absolutely everything. I am aware that every war comes with its casualties."

Peter had the disturbing feeling he was going to be the next casualty, but he didn't think it smart to speak his mind. After all, he had blood on his hands. He knew it all too well. It would be surprising if Sirius didn't hold it against him.

Sirius might be a bit too open-minded when it came to dark magic, but he had his priorities straight. Mostly.

"So we can say you were a freaking mole. That being said, let's pass onto the true subject of this trial: the murders of the Potters, and how you framed your own friend for him to take the fall."

Lily's and James' faces came to Peter's mind but he made them disappear as soon as he could. He wasn't proud of himself, no, but he had done what he could. He hadn't told the Dark Lord right away, he had waited almost one whole week, hoping against hope that Sirius would go back on his decision and be the Secret Keeper. Then he wouldn't have been able to tell the Dark Lord anything.

But Sirius hadn't changed his mind, and after one week of foolish hope that he would, Peter had come to realize it wouldn't happen.

He could have kept the secret some more time, he supposed, but certainly not forever. The Dark Lord was keen on using Legilimancy on his unmarked followers. The ones whom, like him, weren't in the inner cercle. The ones who hadn't been branded, and so could chicken out and go tell the Ministry, because there was no proof of their felony.

Peter would have said "the ones the Dark Lord did not trust", but it would have implied that the Dark Lord trusted some of his followers. And Peter knew too well that the Dark Lord trusted no one.

At best he wasn't wary of some, namely Bellatrix Lestrange and all those who were as crazy as her. The ones who lived, who breathed for his sole existence, and who would rather get killed than to compromise. The others, they were to self-serving to be trusted.

Someone like Peter Pettigrew, who was serving the Dark Lord only because of fear, the Dark Lord had no qualms about forcing his way in their mind. And it was better for Peter to just tell him, rather than to wait until the next legilimency attack. He had risked enough in one week, it had been time to tell the truth.

That James Potter had made him his Secret Keeper.

Peter had risked enough, holding out almost one week.

He wasn't James, Remus or Sirius. He was Peter. It was expected of him not to be as good as them.

"You... were the one... who decided it'd be a better idea for me to be the Secret Keeper, Sirius! If you hadn't, if you had taken the role, it would never have happened! You knew me! You should have known I wasn't strong enough!"

Something cold fell against his forehead, and Peter was taken with the urge to take a step back. But he couldn't move, and anyway, he was already soaked. Sirius had probably thrown his glass of water on him. Anger.

But Sirius should have known.

"Maybe you are right, Peter. Maybe I should have suspected you from the beginning. Maybe I should have understood right away who was the snivelling bastard in our group of friends, when Dumbledore said there was a spy amongst us! Would you have liked that better, Peter? For us to know you better than we seemingly did? Would you rather we had no trust in you?"

No, he wouldn't have.

In fact, he had felt both relieved and guilty, when, after Dumbledore's news, James had immediately taken him apart, and warned him to be prudent, because, you know, he didn't want anything to happen to him. Because James was afraid that, whoever the mole was, the Death Eaters would use the intel to go after the less dangerous members first.

Relieved, because he wasn't in danger of being discovered.

Guitly because, in the end, he had been the one James had trusted the most not to be the spy. Because, in the end, Remus had been worried about him too, and hadn't even thought about the possibility of him being the spy. Because, in the end, Sirius had trusted him more than anyone when it came to James' security.

Yes, Peter Pettigrew wasn't the most dangerous member of the Order of the Phoenix, but the others had seen someone reliable in him. One couldn't have all the qualities in the world.

But they had been wrong.

He had betrayed them all.

Peter heard his former friend, the one who had entrusted him with his best friend, sneer. As always, it seemed Sirius could tell what he was thinking, what he was feeling, only with a glance. The only times it hadn't been the case... were when Sirius had trusted him, while he had in fact been betraying them.

"I thought so. You don't think your words, Pettigrew. You may pretend you believe them, but deep down, you don't think them. I am well aware of my responsibility in James' and Lily's deaths, but I certainly won't minimize yours because of mine. You are the traitor, not me. You went to Voldemort and you sold them to him, not me. I didn't see you for who you really were, and that is my sin. But yours will always be worse."

Peter could feel the drop of cold water rolling slowly down his greasy skin, his dirty hair. It was cold. He felt as if a small, razor-sharp blade was rolling down his flesh, for every drop of water.

He felt uncomfortable.

"Tell me what you did exactly, Peter. Tell me your side of the story. Tell me for what reasons you thought you had a right to keep your hide by selling others'. Tell me how you thought you could get away with it, not only by disappearing, but also by framing me for your crimes. Tell me, Peter, everything that happened from the moment you considered becoming a mole to the moment you woke up, immobilized and blindfolded."

There was a short pause, during which Peter could just tell he wasn't supposed to speak yet. He may not have talked with his former friend in years, but he knew him well enough.

He knew that tone, and the way Sirius could bend his words to get someone emotionally cornered.

But even if he knew what Sirius was doing, it didn't give him much of an edge.

Because it worked nonetheless.

"I want to hear the reasons why I am standing here today, looking at one of my best friends, and feeling only rage. And I want to hear it from you, Peter."

I want you to condemn yourself just as much as I do, even if you don't think it, in other words. I want you to say everything you did, and I even want you to justify your actions as much as you can, because once you will have done that, I will be free to judge, not your actions, but your intentions. What you did out of true necessity can be forgiven, even if I won't love you more because of it. What you did out of fear can be understood, even if it is disappointing.

But what you did, and are trying to defend even when there is no defending it, I will know that you see how wrong and self-serving it is too. And if there is something I can blame but that you truly believe you did for the best, I will have every right to remind you how morally twisted you have become.

Sirius didn't say these words, but Peter knew he meant them. He had heard acidic lectures from his former friend enough times to know how it would go down.

In shame and hatred.

Or in denial, but Peter liked to think he wasn't so depraved as to fall into this trap. Because if he knew one thing, it was that Sirius was always right when assessing a person, and if he felt that his former friend was wrong about him, then it meant that he, Peter Pettigrew, had fallen very low.

He'd worry if he didn't agree with Sirius by the end of this friendly conversation.

Although, for now, he was more worried about what'd come after the conversation, rather than about the outcome.

Despair was starting to eat at him, truthfully. Peter had no idea if he could get away in time, or if he'd die here, by the hand of one of his rare friends.

He tried to tug at the _stupefy_ which was holding him into immobility, just to see if it wasn't weakened by now. Some time had passed since Sirius had cast it, after all.

As he didn't manage to move anything except his face, as before, he guessed the answer was a "no".

"But Sirius, you know all that alread..."

Peter was cut by a sharp order.

"Humor me."

There was nothing humorous about the tone of voice, but Peter gulped and complied.

"At the end of 1980, I was cornered in an alley by Bellatrix. There, she offered me the standard... deal. Intel, or death and very painful torture. I... I said yes, at first only to get away, but she forced me to tell her at least one thing before letting me go. After Fenwick's death, whom they had found because of me, I... I tried to tell James, but... but he asked me how I was doing, and to take care of myself, because the Death Eaters were picking us out and he didn't want anything to happen to me. I didn't manage to speak, so I just nodded. Then there was Glenhill, and I turned to Remus, but he looked like death warmed over, and I just... I didn't go to you, because I was only managing to keep you off my trail because you weren't suspecting me at all. I knew that if I hesitated, and did walk away again, you'd know there was more than the usual stress factors. And I guess it should have comforted me into going to you, but... Sirius... I just knew I'd chicken out, again, and I didn't want you to be suspicious of me. And I didn't want to die."

Peter took a break for a breath, but Sirius didn't use the opportunity for a comment.

Peter's stomach turned on itself, and he understood he'd have to continue. He wouldn't have thought not being judged right away would be this terrible. He wouldn't have thought he'd rather have Sirius rant at him with hatred and unchained wrath.

Because obviously, had Sirius been openly obsessive about this, Peter would have been able to brush off what his former friend blamed him for. He'd have been able to pretend, if only for his own peace of mind, that Sirius wasn't being reasonable, that he exaggerated everything.

Unfortunately for him, Sirius had seemingly taken an opportunity to collect himself, and hadn't come onto him wand blazing.

Which also meant it would be harder to get away.

"I... Bellatrix came back to see me in July 1981. She wanted info on Lily and Alice, and their pregnancies. I.. I tried to threw her off, but in the end she managed to get something else out of me. The date for the party at the Bones'. Later, I heard that two Death Eaters had infiltrated the house just before the beginning of the party, and murdered about everyone present, including Edgard. I got sick, that day, I'm sure you remember."

Peter waited for a moment, as if for comfirmation, but still Sirius wasn't talking.

He resigned himself to continue.

"Then you thought it'd be... clever... for you to be a bait for the Death Eaters, while I'd be the true Secret Keeper to James' and Lily's Fidelius charm. I tried to tell you it wasn't a good idea, but you were so sure of yourself...!"

"Facts, Peter. I want facts."

"I... I waited six days. I was hoping you'd change your mind, that you'd tell Dumbledore about the switch, that you'd want the role back, I was hoping for a valid reason not to tell the Dark Lord about it, because it'd blow up my cover, but you never changed your mind. I had to go and meet with Bellatrix, the sixth day, and there was nothing I could do but to tell her."

A sneer, but not a comment on that one.

A chill traveled down Peter's spine.

And incredibly, his body reacted to it, just a bit, not so much, but just enough to tell him that the stunning spell on him was coming to an end. He had just shivered a bit, after all. It meant he was starting to move again.

It meant he could, perhaps, run for his life, get this blindfold off, and never again cross path back with Sirius Black, if only he could manage not moving an inch between now and the moment of the last remnant of the spell. If only he could do it so that Sirius wouldn't notice.

"Then I tried to flee the country. But you found me, Sirius, you of all people, and I just knew you wouldn't understand. Or, to quote your own words, that you would understand, but never comprehend. And that, because you are you, you would immediately know I had given them away 'out of my free will'. So I did what I had to do."

Peter couldn't see a thing, not with the blindfold on, but he clearly felt the air being displaced right before his nose. He did his best not to stumble back, as he guessed Sirius had just stopped himself from punching him in the face. It wouldn't do to give away his little secret.

Especially not as Sirius was showing some signs of control lost. Which was as good a news as Peter would get in such a situation.

"Obviously. You turned around, yelled I was a traitor to frame me, and killed everyone in a ten feet radius, except us two, because you had to. Obviously, Peter."

There was a short silence, and the prisoner did his best not to answer an ill-advised "better them than me". He didn't think his former friend would take that too well.

Sirius was the one to speak up, once again. There was much contempt in his voice.

Years ago, Peter would never have thought he'd hear this much of his friend's disdain turned against him, and not against some school bully. Then again, years ago, Peter had no idea of how far he would go in order to protect himself.

"I wonder, Peter, do you even realize that your body count is higher than some of the underlings of Voldemort's themselves? Without even talking about the people you condemned to death by telling on them, your direct actions took twelve muggles lives, not that I think you care whether or not they were muggles. You aren't a blood purist, Peter, you just care about yourself more than about anyone else. Congratulations, you have been recognized as a selfish bastard! A selfish bastard with a lot of blood on his hands."

The ground had to be made of rocky outcrops, because Peter could hear the sounds of Sirius' footsteps quite well. And right now, he was pretty sure his former friend wasn't facing him, or his direction in general.

It was now, or never.

As always, Peter was going to save his own life. Because it wasn't as if anyone else would do it for him, not anymore. No one would fight for him.

Sirius couldn't comprehend that. He couldn't understand that. What Peter had done, was saving himself. Because the world existed to him, only as long as he was alive. Who cared if the world went to hell, once they were dead?

Sirius was wrong about him.

Peter didn't remember, at that moment, that Sirius Black was never wrong in assessing a person. And that, if the person denied it, it was most likely because they had fallen very low.

He was too focused on checking if the _stupefy_ had completely loosened.

Peter tried to relax his muscles, which he had kept very tense in order not to move an inch. It worked. And Peter moved. The stunning spell was gone.

Unfortunately, relaxing all of a sudden wasn't something very clever to do. Peter screamed a bit when the world fell around him, which was very odd while sporting a blindfold, and he barely stopped himself from completely falling to the ground.

He heard the sound of Sirius turning around, but didn't take the time to listen to more. His surprise effect was mostly gone, by now, and he could only run for it, and hope for the best.

Peter managed to move two steps away, before a hand grabbed him and threw him to the ground. His hands shot up to tore off the blindfold, at least, but before he could do a thing, Sirius screamed a stunning spell at him again, and here he was, curled up on the hard ground and unable to move, again, still unseeing but not unhearing.

This was it, he thought. His last opportunity to live had died away. He was done for.

Sirius was going to kill him.

Peter would have sobbed, if he hadn't been unable to move much. Sobbing while immobilized was hard on the ribs, or something like that. He tried to keep the tears in.

He didn't want to die.

When his former friend spoke again, after a bout of loud, angry breathing, the anger was clearer than ever in his tone. It had gone from disdainful and slightly disgusted to downright freezing.

"You have no idea, Peter, of what Azkaban is like. Your life these last years might not have been the best, always hiding, but at least you were free, and there was no happiness-sucking monsters anywhere near you! It takes everything away, every decision, every bit of hope. But one day, I saw a picture in the Daily Prophet, and I recognized you, hiding in plain sight. And then, then, Peter, I swore that I would keep you away from Harry, and, to be honest, from people in general. I escaped, and I came here. I was furious, as you might imagine! I wanted to rip you to shreds, to burn or bury you alive, and possibly to take your eyes out and force you to eat them beforehand. I had only this idea in mind, you see, and I was very adamant in doing it right. I may have overlooked some basic escapee strategies in my rage, but you know how it is, to want something bad enough that you'd do anything for it, don't you, Peter?"

Peter very much wanted to stay alive right now, yes, and he'd do anything for that to happen.

It didn't seem very likely, though.

"But a kid lost his wand, this afternoon, just clear of the Forbidden Forest. He didn't notice right away, and I stumbled upon it. I didn't quite believe my luck. And as I had absolutely no idea of where you were hiding lately, not since the stunt with the blood and the cat, I decided to transfigure myself into someone just different enough that I wouldn't be recognized by the spell Flitwick put on the doors. I got into the kitchen, ate something better than trash and rats, and even managed to take a bath when the night came. I felt just a bit better, after that. And I used the time in the bath to think clearly about our situation."

Peter would have shivered when his former friend spoke of eating rats for dinner, if he had been able to.

"I thought about it, a lot. And what came out of it, was that I had everything I needed with this wand. I made a quick job of a map I'm certain you remember, and I found you. Stunning you and getting you here wasn't very difficult after that. And here we are, Peter, you and me, once again. Only, the roles are different this time around. And you won't walk out of it as you did the first time. You should thank me that I haven't tried to kick your guts out yet, because I'd certainly love to do it."

"Si... Sirius... You won't just kill me, right? Not me, not your old friend! Think about it, I'm the only one who knows you aren't the one they all think you are! I can testify, if you want, or..."

Peter felt two hands touching his head, right on the blindfold.

"You know what's your problem, Peter? In itself, it's not that you wanted to live so bad you betrayed us all. The problem, Peter, is that you still manage to justify this betrayal even after everything went sour for you. The problem, Peter, is that you never took responsibility for your choices, even after the immediate danger had disappeared. The problem, Peter, is that you decided it was better to kill a dozen of innocents and frame a friend for life, when you could have gotten away with only a few years in Azkaban, if you had defended your case right; Bellatrix Lestrange herself had threatened you, after all. The problem, Peter, is that even if you did what you did unwillingly, you didn't turn around, once you were free, to ask for forgiveness, but you ran and aggravated your case."

Peter panicked.

He didn't want to die, not today, not ever! He couldn't just die like that, not after all these years in hiding, bearing to be a rat every hour of the day, knowing he would never be able to live freely again! He couldn't just die like that! He had sacrificed too much to stay alive, he couldn't die like that!

He couldn't die like that...

"Sirius, please, I swear I'll tell them everything, I'll tell them you're innocent, that I did it, I..."

"It's too late, Peter."

The prisoner froze, or, as he was already immobilized, he freaked out internally. His heart was beating like mad, he had the feeling he was going to die. Wouldn't it be ironic, to die now of an heart attack?

Sirius had said it'd be all over when he'd take off the blindfold.

Peter Pettigrew was going to die, and this time, there was no escaping it.

The blindfold fell from his eyes. Peter's eyes suddenly were assaulted by light. He saw nothing else.

 **oOo**

Sirius blinked, as the stunning spell was rendered useless, and disappeared as a consequence.

He certainly had been hoping for something like that to happen, he had even done his best for something like that to happen, but he hadn't really believed it would actually happen. He was a bit surprised it had actually happened. Despite his dreaming that such a thing would happen, he had thought he'd just give the worst fright of his life to the bastard.

Giving someone a heart attack wasn't exactly something you planned for.

He stared at the slumped corpse of Peter Pettigrew, former friend and best traitor, for a while.

Then he looked up and around, and shrugged, because even if he was sad that the gentle Wormtail of his teenage years was gone, he couldn't care less about the despicable man Wormtail had become.

Or maybe he could, because he really wanted to kick the cadaver bloody, but he had a feeling it wouldn't be appreciated by his audience. It was better to play indifference.

"Oh dear. A heart attack. So unpredictable. And shocking."

Sirius sounded so true right now, he'd give himself a 10 out of 10 for lack of emotions in acting.

 **oOo**

There was a long silence in the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

Albus Dumbledore, the four Head of Houses, and all the other professors, as well as the remaining staff, a few Aurors, the Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, Madame Bones, even the retired Moody Mad-Eye, and yet a dozen of other adults were staring at the surreal scene in front of them.

It was about four in the morning, all the students were in bed, and Sirius Black was standing in the Great Hall, gazing dispationately at the body of his former friend, supposedly-blown-to-bits Peter Pettigrew.

The Headmaster and Flitwick had come down to the Hall after a silent alarm had flashed in Dumbledore's office. An alarm that had been set up because of Black's presence around the school.

Also, an alarm that shouldn't have gone off, considering the other alarms that the escapee should have started on his way to the Great Hall.

The Headmaster and the Head of Ravenclaw had come to a disturbing scene, where an underfed but smiling Sirius Black had greeted them from behind a circular wall of various runic wards. Sure, the smile had looked a bit thin, a bit forced, but a smile nonetheless.

Dumbledore had called for all the adults in the castle, and Flitwick had contacted the competent authorities outside of the school.

Then they had noticed the stupefied individual standing behind Black in a rather rigid pose, with a blindfold on. There was something familiar about him, but they couldn't quite tell what exactly. Then again, both professors had seen enough students over the years for this stranger to be one of them.

By the time everyone had gathered in the Great Hall, it was almost four in the morning, and Black hadn't done a thing, either towards them or to his prisoner. It was as if he had been waiting for them.

The Minister for Magic had watched, baffled, the scene for a whole minute. Then he had turned to the Headmaster, and had asked why they weren't taking down the runic wards.

Dumbledore had handed him the piece of parchment Black had left outside the wards, just for them to see. It said there was no point trying to break the wards, because he wouldn't let them take him alive, and you never knew what would happen to his prisoner during the twenty minutes it'd take to destroy his extensive warding. It also said there was no point trying to talk, because he had sound-proofed the wards. It finally said he hoped they'd enjoy the show.

Then Black had gotten the stranger to wake up, and had started talking. He had lied to his prisoner about the sound-proofing, about being in the Forbidden Forest, and a few other things, but it was obvious that he wasn't trying to deceive them. Only him.

And more importantly, he had called the stranger "Peter", as in "Peter Pettigrew". And "Peter" had never argued about that. And Black had orchestrated a testimony from "Peter", by misleading the man into thinking he was going to kill him, in the end.

Black undid his wards, handed his stolen wand to Minerva McGonagall, and sat down at a table.

"Any question?"


	2. Unclaimed Darkness - Chapter 1: The Reci

_If you've already read this, don't be surprised: I'm only adding the first chapters of each of my longer stories._

* * *

 _Not to be willing to use it does not mean one is not able to use it. As a matter of fact, Sirius knew he was gifted concerning it. It wasn't by chance that his family was called Black. But he had long decided he would never use it again._  
 _That time was supposed to be the only exception._

 _Sirius hadn't survived Bella killing him to kneel before the Dark Bastard. No, Sirius Black was alive and dangerous, clever and ireful, and slightly insane, of course. He was Lord Black, and he would stand in the way of Voldemort as long as someone would need him to._

 _Or, the story in which Sirius survives the Department of Mysteries Battle, is freaking awesome and get a new chance at life. The one in which a sane Bellaterix is actually a kind of nice Bellatrix. The one in which a lot of people manage to stay alive, and some even weren't dead to begin with. The one in which some muggles are important too, and not complete assholes. The one in which Sirius falls in love with a woman who would almost make his mother happy._

* * *

 **Unclaimed Darkness - Chapter 1: The Reciprocation curse**

He knew he had no time for that. Harry was out there, somewhere in the Department of Mysteries, with Death Eaters running around and trying to kill the kids, but well. He couldn't help it.

After all, it was his wand, just here, behind the glass, waiting for him.

His wand.

The one he had purchased at Ollivanders' the year he had gone to Hogwarts for the first time. The one that had been taken away from him after the Wormtail fiasco. The one that, curiously, the Ministry hadn't destroyed after his being thrown in Azkaban.

It was there, waiting for him.

Sirius took a deep breath.

He really had no time for this, but he also felt that he couldn't, wouldn't be able to ignore the urge to take back what was his. Actually, dealing with it right now, instead of postponing and feeling guilty over the need he had to waste time with this when everyone else was fighting in the other rooms, might be a faster way to go back to business.

After all, hexing and jinxing and occasionally cursing their ennemies would be easier with his own wand. Hell, he yearned for a Furnunculus curse on Bella. That would have been splendid.

The wand he was using since his return to the Order wasn't exactly bad, but it wasn't his. It had never accepted him, because it was a discarded wand that Kingsley had found in some dubious place Sirius didn't want to know about. It was useful enough, considering that at least, this way, he had a wand, but it wasn't his in any way.

Staying still, thinking he had no time for that, was another way to waste time, so he might as well waste it usefully.

Sirius Black quickly looked at the room he had ended up in while fighting a now unconscious and tied up Death Eater. It was dark, as every place in the Department of Mysteries, it was small, also, and crowded with furniture of all sorts. Shelves, cupboards, closets, but also many other things such as a displayed skeleton. Who the hell had thought it was a good idea to put a skeleton on display?

Surely someone from his family. That was so like them.

Whatever. The only interesting thing for Sirius in this room, besides himself, of course, was the storage cabinet with the glass doors in front of him.

There might have been wards preventing people from taking the wands that were kept in it, but he doubted it. It was, after all, in the middle of the Department of Mysteries. People weren't supposed to come in and wander around and finally take what they liked before leaving.

So Sirius opened the cupboard.

Nothing happened, which was a relief.

His fingers brushed past the wands. Why they had been kept here, he didn't know. But the names on the plates next to each of the wands made it clear: the interest the Ministry had in these wands wasn't random.

How his own wand had ended up here too was a mystery. Why, after all, would anyone think it deserved to be put away with dark mages' and some of the most unfamous wizards' wands? Even if they had believed him to be a mass murderer working for Voldepants, Sirius Black surely wasn't enough for the brains of the Department to wonder about him. He wasn't powerful enough, not dark enough, not...

But they had believed he had murdered thirteen persons with one spell, so the evil criterion was checked. And he was powerful, if not outrageously strong as Dumbledore or Voldemort were. And he was a Black.

So he totally could apply, with what they believed about his part in the last war, for the same consideration the wizards whose wands were put away in this room had.

Powerful. Evil. Dangerous.

Even while locked up in Azkaban.

The plate "Sirius Black" was right next to the "Vitellius Travers" one, a dark wizard from two centuries prior, because wizards had this curious way of arranging things, but that wasn't the most ashaming part. Sirius winced when he saw the six other Black names that had deserved to be brought in here. Bellatrix, of course, and five of their ancestors.

The Blacks were the only family name that came up more than thrice amongst the plates.

Sirius seized his wand and left the room in haste, willing to forget that his family was definitely the most evil one of Great Britain, but not without hexing the unconscious Death Eater purple and yellow. He had thought that red and gold was a good idea too, since the man was most likely a Slytherin, but he wasn't going to sully Gryffindor with a filthy Death Eater wearing, even unwillingly, its colors.

He opened a door and came back in the Death Chamber.

Apparently, he hadn't wasted as much time thinking about whether or not he should take his wand back as he had believed, and things hadn't changed much. Moody, Bella, Remus, Malfoy, Kingsley, and the other Death Eaters or members of the Order of the Phoenix were still battling each other, the children had more or less succeeded in escaping the ones who were trying to take them hostages, and Harry was being reckless as always, cursing and fighting random Death Eaters to protect Hermione Granger who was uncouscious.

Sirius took a deep breath, and turned around to stupefy an idiot who thought he could surprise him defenseless.

Strangely, the Death Eater was sent flying across the room and crashed against a wall.

That was a bit more than a simple stunning.

Two Death Eaters, as well as Tonks, stopped fighting for a short while after seeing this, but their opponents quickly reminded them of the current battles. Remus, while knocking out his enemy, gave him a quick glance and recognized the wand. Contentment and resentment fought on his face, but he still had some masked bastards to incapacitate, so he decided to leave the scolding for later.

Everything after that was fast.

Sirius remembered fighting with Lucius Malfoy at some point, getting closer to Harry before being drawn into another fight, and then...

He avoided a cruciatus curse and came face to face with a feminin lookalike.

"Bella."

"Sirius."

It was uncomfortable how they looked like each other. He was a man, she was a woman, he had straight hair, she had curly hair, he was angry, she was mad. But they were too similar, with their slightly drooping grey eyes, their mass of ink black hair, their aristocratic elegance despite their poor post-Azkaban condition, their good looks. They were Blacks.

"I see you got your wand back."

Sirius cast a Knockback jinx powerful enough to blow off the stairs right behind his cousin. He frowned. His magic was behaving strangely since he had gotten his wand back.

"I saw yours too, cousin dearest. But I won't tell you where."

Bellatrix grunted and cast a blue spell that he shielded.

"It's such a shame you're so adamant about siding with the Dark Lord. I know you, Sirius. Deep down, you're a Black. The Dark Arts are calling for you, as they are calling for me. Lucius told me you're still on the Wall of the Lords and your name wouldn't go off, even though the Ministry tried to have Narcissa take the Ladyship."

This time it was Sirius who rumbled, clearly annoyed that magic considered him to be the one and only Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. He had no desire to be the head of such a rotten family.

"Remember how you used dark magic when you were only seve..."

The wizard wouldn't bear it anymore. He didn't let her finish her sentence and went for a Reductor Curse that he half-hoped would blast his cousin into pieces.

Then he heard shouting from where Harry was the last time he had checked, and his eyes searched for his godson.

Unfortunately, Bellatrix had shielded his curse just in time, and, altough she seemed to have difficulties standing, she was still in one piece.

"Time to go, cousin."

Sirius turned around only to see a spell going for his chest. He let go of his wand.

It wasn't the killing curse, obviously, or he'd have been dead. But his whole body was sent flying, and his destination was ominous enough for him to be sure he wouldn't survive it.

The wizard deliberated faster than he had ever deliberated. The Veil was only inches behind him, he would soon pass the archway. He had no time. He had to make a choice.

Sirius saw Harry being threatened by some unknown Death Eater, the kids struggling against some psychos, Tonks, Kinsgley, Moody battling fiercely, Remus running to Harry's location and glancing at him with horror, and Bella's maddening smile.

Anger rose in his heart.

He silenced it.

She had it coming, didn't she?

Quiet words went through his lips, and he fell behind the Veil.

His shadow had left his body, and crawled to his cousin's, but no one saw it. No one noticed him casting a last spell before dying. It was for the best. Of course, all hell broke loose, and no one had time to notice.

Bellatrix ran away singing about how she had killed her cousin. Harry went after her, tried a Cruciatus curse on her, and hell, Sirius could feel it, it wasn't nearly strong enough to even startle her. Then he saw, though he wasn't certain how he could see, but he saw nonetheless, Voldemort coming, and Dumbledore saving Harry. Everything was a bit blurry, so only anxiety and fear reached his mind, and then he saw Voldepants coming nearer, and grabbing him... well, Bella, before apparating away. Interesting how the Dark Bastard seemed to care for his cousin, even if he was clearly able to torture her on a whim.

What was sure, Sirius thought, was that no one had understood he was still there, linked to Bellatrix's life, and more or less able to sense what she sensed. Soon enough, he'd have a body of his own too, or at least he hoped, since the Reciprocation curse wasn't usually used by people whose body had disappeared.

When that time would come, it'd be better if he knew at least where he was, and with who. He would most likely come back to life with a bunch of Death Eaters around, so it was a good thing, really, that he knew beforehand.

The Reciprocation curse was a Black family's secret. Even the family members usually didn't know much about it. They knew it existed, but they didn't knew the incantation.

Sirius would have snorted, if only he had a body, because only the Lord of the House of Black knew the incantation. Only him knew how risky the curse was, how many of them had failed the spell and died. After all, the one who used the curse was always one doomed to die, to be murdered to be accurate, so usually people couldn't tell the difference.

Bella glanced at her dearest Dark Lord, and so Sirius was forced to look at him too.

Voldepants was simply this rotten that he didn't look much like a human being anymore.

Sirius shrugged internally.

The Reciprocation curse was definitely dark magic. Knowing how Tom Riddle looked like before becoming... this, was enough of a giveaway of what the overuse of dark magic could do to someone. Sirius wasn't particularly keen on the use of the Dark Arts, he basically loathed it, but...

Bella was right.

He was a Black.

And a gifted one at that.

Losing his own good looks wasn't exactly the worst thing that could happen to him.

Paying a little more attention to their surroundings, Sirius noticed they were in a richly decorated building, with pretentiously high windows and walls half-hidden with magic paintings of wizards and witches glaring at the intruders. The most recent ones, when they recognized Voldemort, looked away. Not far away from Bellatrix was a fireplace with a jar containing a green powder. Sirius knew he'd have to escape quickly when he'd actually come back to life, and guessed he would not be able to apparate. If it happened here, he knew how to.

Now, the thing was that he had no idea how much time was needed for the curse to finish its work.

From what he had learned when the title of Lord Black had been passed onto him, at his grand-father's death, only three of the Blacks who had tried to use the Reciprocation curse had succeeded in their attempt, while the eight others had simply died at the hands of their murderers. The process to come back to life took usually less than an hour, but he had no idea if it would be ten minutes or fifty-nine. And, well, he still wasn't sure that he had succeeded.

So he could only wait, hoping that no one would have the bright idea to kill Bellatrix before he did, "no one" being a snake-faced-nearly-not-human-anymore scum. If Voldemort killed, for whatever reason he may have, you never knew with Voldepants, his cousin, Sirius could forget all his hopes to come back to life.

Well, not that he was really eager to.

Sirius Black wasn't known to fear death, quite the contrary, actually.

But he also knew that the war against Voldemort had just begun. He wanted to protect Harry, and everyone else if he could, and for that, he needed to be alive.

Even if that meant he had to give in to the Dark Arts for once.

He only hoped he wouldn't be drawn to it again and again afterwards. He also knew it was a vain wish. Still, somehow, he'd have to control it, and not to become as wicked as Bella was by the same token. Not that he feared to be controlled by the dark magic... He was a Black, after all.

Whatever, he had made a choice, now, and he'd have to live with it.

If he got to live, of course.

By the way, Voldemort wasn't pleased.

The prophecy had been broken into pieces, Harry Potter was still alive, the Ministry knew he was back, and he had lost some of his followers, and all that at the same time. Three of these failures were to be blamed onto Dumbledore, but the first one... Yes, for the first one, he could punish someone, he only had to find a Death Eater who he could vent his anger on.

A grumpy Voldepants was not good to have around.

Voldemort grabbed Bellatrix's arm without delicacy, and used her Dark Mark to call his remaining followers.

Figures appeared in Sirius' line of sight, well, Bella's, figures cloaked in black and wearing wary expressions. Why the hell they had chosen to follow a man who had the disturbing habit of torturing and killing his followers as well as his enemies was beyond Sirius, but well, they were there.

The Death Eater that had him concerned the most apparated second to last.

Severus Snape, with his greasy hair and hooked nose, stood silently on the other side of the room with some other Death Eaters. Sirius's vision was too blurry to count how many of them were there, but he was certain he couldn't see the blond hair of Malfoy, surely tied up and nearly on his way to Azkaban back at the Ministry.

"Your fellow Death Eaters utterly failed their mission, and by doing so, failed me. I hope none of you will disappoint me as much in the future."

Many wizards shivered at the statement, not deaf to the rising displeasure in the Dark Bastard's voice. Sirius mentally snorted. The guy definitely had mental and control issues.

And if he could let go of his arm, too, wait, Bella's arm, but still, his arm, that'd be great.

Voldepants rambled about how they were all fools and literally useless, a random Death Eater said something and was hexed in warning, and Sirius finally noticed that he himself was getting angry as well. Not slightly angry, as he was supposed to be after being murdered by his own cousin, but so angry he could have used some Unforgivables Curses to feel better if he had a body.

As sick as it sounded, it was a good sign, and meant the Reciprocation curse was working just fine.

Voldemort sat on a chair that looked a lot like a throne and looked over his followers with disdain. Bellatrix, not daring to look at him directly as she always did with infinite adoration, had joined the other Death Eaters, Rowle, one of the Travers, and others he didn't really care about enough to remember their names right now. Severus was looking grumpy, but he always looked angry, so that was usual, and in the end, he was right to be, with the current state of their crusade.

"The results of this mission are desastrous. The only good point, and when I say good point, it's out of humor, of course, when we lost more than half of our men, is this one: Severus' Hogwarts nemesis died at Bellatrix's hands. Which means we lost a dozen of Death Eaters, and only inflicted a small wound at the Order's side, while the Ministry can't ignore us anymore. Now, will one of you tell me who is to blame?"

Snape looked more shocked than happy with the piece of news, and he surely wasn't even thinking about Voldemort's question. The man frowned, unsure of what to do. He definitely couldn't express his joy with the current situation and the Dark Lord's anger, and besides that, he wasn't exactly happy that Sirius Black had died. Many assumed it was because he had wanted to kill him himself.

Sirius almost felt bad for hating the man so much. Almost.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Bellatrix felt something strange.

As if someone was here, spying on her.

The witch looked around, searching for someone who shouldn't be here, and saw no one. It wasn't exactly surprising, after all. She had this feeling the spy was in her head, one way or another, so he wasn't likely to be around.

Two answers: either she was growing mad, or there really was someone with access to her mind.

The why and how, she didn't know. But if someone could see what was happening, she had to stop them before they could gather enough information or anything they were looking for.

Her eyes set on Severus, and she grinned.

Whoever the spy was, he wouldn't be able to withstand legilimency. And the two wizards able to do that perfectly in the room were the Dark Lord and Severus. Bellatrix wasn't going to ask the Dark Lord, of course. But she could still ask the potion master.

Something, well, maybe someone, shivered in the back of her mind.

Snape was considering the fact that Sirius Black was dead when he saw Bellatrix coming closer. It was suspicious, and seeing the grin on her face, definitely not to talk about the weather.

"Bellatrix, may I do something for you?"

Knowing her, he feared she'd ask him to torture some muggle or muggle-born to prove his loyalty and his beliefs. And Severus wouldn't be able to refuse, even though he couldn't bear the madness of the Dark Lord and his certitudes anymore. How had he even thought all this was right, when he had been in love with Lily Evans, a muggle-born?

He inwardly winced remembering how much of a fool he had been back then.

The witch was looking at him with satisfaction.

"I want you to take a look in my head."

Severus was dumbfounded, and he wasn't the only one. The two nearest Death Eaters were staring in their direction, trying to make sense of the situation, and stopped paying any attention to what their Dark Lord was saying to Travers Junior, or whatever was his name.

"You want who to do what?"

Bellatrix's grin grew wider as she answered.

"You. Take a look in my head."

"And why would I want to do that? Your mind is surely filled with dementors and torture scenes, so you'll excuse me if I'm reluctant to take a look."

He shuddered when she almost leaned on him and whispered in his ear.

"I think someone is sneaking in my head, though I have no idea how."

Snape squinted his eyes, uncertain of what to do.

Well, if someone was spying on them in some way, they had shamefully failed when Bellatrix had caught on their spying, and as a Death Eater, it would be better for him to comply. What excuse could he give not to do it, after all?

"Fine, I'll do it. But don't you dare to trick me or you'll pay for it."

Bellatrix looked at him with the eyes of the innocent, and Severus found himself uncomfortably trying to ignore her resemblance with her cousin. Why were the Blacks so terribly beautiful and unnerving, in the name of Merlin? Now he wanted to punch her for using this trick on him and for looking like the deceased Sirius Black when she was the one who had killed him.

And, well, he was a bit angry that he actually wasn't happy about Sirius' death, and that he had flinched at her beauty while she looked so much like him. Maybe he was searching for comparisons where there weren't any, but still. He was sure Sirius Black would be laughing out loud if he knew his thoughts about how he was angry with such stupid things.

And indeed, Sirius Black was roaring with laughter in the back of Bella's mind.

He knew it wasn't a good thing that she had asked Snape to read her mind, oh yes, he knew it, but still, this was too good to be overlooked.

Bella was basically flirting with Snivellus. Even if it wasn't to seduce him, only to get what she wanted, that is, to unnerve the wizard, it was too damn funny.

Well, still, this was going to get ugly if the curse didn't finish its work pretty soon.

Bellatrix and Severus walked out of the room, under the surprised eyes of most of the Death Eaters present. They entered a small room and Snape took out his wand.

Damn, Sirius swore mentally, no fireplace in here.

Bella shivered. The presence in her head was getting stronger.

" _Legilimens_!"

Bellatrix forced herself to open her mind and not to resist the invasion, and she clearly felt that someone else was trying to resist alongside her subconscious.

Snape frowned as he overlooked thoughts and memories. Some of it might have been useful to the Order, but she would notice if he lingered around. He was looking for something peculiar, not for some of the sickening moments in Bellatrix Lestrange's life. He was looking for something, someone, that shouldn't be here, and...

Severus' eyes widened.

That wasn't possible. It couldn't, shouldn't be, it...

That's when he felt the wave of darkness.

"What is it, Severus?"

The wizard took a step back, breaking the mental link to protect himself. His wand pointed towards Bellatrix, well, what he had assumed to be Bellatrix, he squinted his eyes.

The witch suddenly seemed lost.

She collapsed at his feet, and the dull sound of her body crashing against the floor resonated in the room. Hurried footsteps were heard, and the door soon opened violently, letting three Death Eaters in who looked at Severus and Bellatrix warily.

"What the hell are you two doi... Wait, Severus, what did you do to her?"

The potion master winced at the accusation.

"Nothing. But I believe you should take a hold of your wand. I'm not certain of what this all mean, but I can tell you for sure that there is something wrong with her. I can't promise she won't try anything."

Everyone looked at him bewildered. Snape really looked serious about that, afraid, even, and that wasn't, couldn't be a good thing. Severus Snape wasn't a man to be easily afraid.

Bella was writhing in pain. This was definitely dark magic's effects, but how could she... Never mind, she wasn't exactly in the right state to wonder about this kind of things.

Something switched, and she couldn't breathe anymore.

Then she could again.

But she wasn't the one breathing. Her body was breathing. Her body was moving, standing up again. But not her mind. Her mind wasn't able to do anything anymore, though it still received sensory signals. She wasn't the one moving, although her body was moving.

A shift in balance, exactly.

Before, she had had more power than the one lurking in the back of her mind.

When she had asked Snape to check who was spying on them, they had allowed the spy to take control. It would have surely been a matter of time, and in the end, the wizard who had taken away her will would have done the exact same thing anyway.

Her mouth whispered words she was the only one to hear. Realization struck her like lightning.

"Tss, 'can't believe it went down to that. I really, really do hope I won't stay stuck in Bella's body, because that would be hell in all respects."

Obviously. Sirius wasn't eager to live the rest of his life, yes, yes, more accurately, Bellatrix' life, in the body of a woman who had so many issues. First of all, being a woman when he was a man. Not her fault, really, but that would be freaking terrifying. And people would surely try to hook him up with Remus if he ended up a woman, if only for the fun of the awkwardness of the proposition. Second thing, Bellatrix had, same as him actually, spent years in Azkaban, and wasn't exactly in good health. Third point, she had a bloody Dark Mark on her forearm and there was no way he'd put up with this. Fourth and not last problem, she was wanted and a murderer. Even if he managed to make people understand he wasn't actually her, he'd still have to deal with what she had done. Fifth headache, she was his cousin, goddamnit!

And let's not talk about the fact that he was in her body because he had killed her after she had killed him, or that the Reciprocation curse was definitely dark magic.

"Bellatrix...?"

Right. Death Eaters everywhere. And a Dark Bastard on the loose in the dining room.

Sirius got on his feet and glanced over the dark wizards in the room. All of them were wary of him. Quite justified, after all. Snivellus, particularly, was looking at him with awe. Sirius wondered what he had seen exactly when their minds had collided.

Was he aware of who he was?

Or had he only stumbled upon the swirl of darkness the curse had created in him?

Sirius took the usual Black-smug-pose. He was confident he was behaving way too much like his cousin, but hell, they weren't cousins for nothing. So many times he had been disgusted by their likeness, when their beliefs were so different, but now he could use it.

"What, never seen a woman in pain before? My filthy cousin might have been a fool unable to see where his true benefits lay, but he wasn't unable to unflict damages in a duel."

Yup. Let's begin by insulting himself. And the sentence was great, since changing only two words could make it all too much true about Bella instead of him. Apparently their opinions on each other were basically the same.

"Now, Severus, could you lower the wand, so that I can walk away without feeling threatened?"

When Bellatrix Lestrange felt threatened, the one who caused it usually had trouble breathing the next minute. Most of the Death Eaters complied.

But Snape knew better, and as much as it sickened him to admit it, Sirius knew he was right. Two Death Eaters had heard Bella's request to the potion master, and they weren't likely to buy it so easily. If the two of them simply walked away now, it would seem dubious. Snivellus' spying was likely to be hindered and his own chances to get away would go way down.

"Who are you?"

Snape's voice was low and all but friendly. Fellow Death Eaters froze upon hearing it.

"Right. Bella's exposed me quite well, hasn't she?"

Concerned looks of incomprehension were shared amongst the public. Maybe Lestrange had definitely lost it? It wouldn't be surprising, after all those years with the dementors.

Bella's mouth widened in a sly smile that Sirius and her shared.

"Snivellus."

The shock was consequent.

Wholly out-of-it Death Eaters saw Severus Snape's eyes widening, two wands being almost thrown at each other, several spells making holes in the walls of the room. Sirius ducked and rolled on the floor, stood up with a devilish grin at the door, and ran out. Severus swore and went after him.

They were all sure that Snape and Lestrange had simply gone mad.

Like, really, really crazy. Crazy to the point that they'd better go after them before something tragic happened. And they weren't talking about one of them being killed. Snape and Lestrange were dangerous enough to blow up half of the castle if they put their heart into it. An event the Dark Lord would middly appreciate. And that could result in some more deaths, though accidental this time. Unless the Dark Lord decided to step in. Which was only this unlikely to happen.

And even if they didn't know that Bellatrix wasn't Bellatrix, they were right about the danger Severus and Sirius represented battling each other. Even if they were doing it for the show, at the moment.

Sirius Black was as freaking deadly as his cousin. And maybe even more dangerous.

"What the hell does that mean, Black?!"

"I'm trying to get to the floo network and go back home."

Snape misdirected a spell to a wall on purpose. He wasn't going to kill Black, but he had to make it look like he was actually trying to. Now that the other Death Eaters were far enough not to hear, he could ask some questions to try and understand what the hell had happened.

"You know that's not what I'm talking about. You became a bit too much feminin lately, if you know what I mean."

Sirius / Bellatrix winced as he / she evaded a hex.

"Let's just say that when Bella killed me, I used some family secret to get back at her. Now, I want to say it was her flirting with you, and definitely not me."

Severus looked furious at the mention of before, but said nothing. The mutt was an obnoxious bastard, so a bit of stupidity even in such a situation was to be expected.

Two Death Eaters caught up to them, and Sirius decided it was definitely the moment to take his leave. The door to the main room was only two steps away, reaching it wouldn't be difficult. The only thing was that between the door and the fireplace, there was the Dark Bastard.

He'd have to go quickly if he wanted to survive to Grimmauld Place.

"Well, I guess it's time for me to bid you goodbye."

And he ran for it, leaving behind, once more, bewildered Death Eaters.

The door slammed as he opened it.

His and Voldepants' eyes met for a second.

Sirius gave him his most hateful grin.

Cast a random spell at the bastard's face.

Smiled when a red cloud came between them.

Rushed to the fireplace.

Looked behind to see the cloud being swept away.

Grabbed a handful of floo powder.

Blinked at the coming Stunner.

Yelled the address.

The Stunner hit the fireplace, almost blasting it into pieces. But Sirius didn't see that, swirling inside the floo network. He had barely made it out of the damned place.

He instantly recognized the grim kitchen of his home, and wondered when it had become his home again, instead of the way more neutral house. Stepping into 12, Grimmauld Place, Sirius Black winced at the memories of his childhood. 12, Grimmauld Place, wasn't supposed to feel like home.

He tripped to the large table and sat on a chair. He knew he had to go back to the Ministry, to see if Harry was alright, if everyone was alright. But not right now. For now, he couldn't.

The Reciprocation curse hadn't yet finished its work.

Pain grew wild. It was everywhere.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sirius thought he had just heard Bella's screaming her lungs out. Then she wasn't here anymore. Had she finally died? Was it over?

Sirius tried to stand up, a bit too nauseous to care that he was still in his cousin's body.

The world started to spin around.

He fell to the ground, screaming as Bella had been screaming, only he did scream out loud. It felt like cold, very cold, so cold hands had grabbed his guts and were bending them in ways they should never be bent. A shiver crept down his spine. His skin seemed so heavy he felt like it was crushing his body, well, Bella's body, to dust.

He looked up when he heard a loud crack. The bloody Kreacher. Of course.

It was all his fault. He was the reason why he was in such a state, because this sorry excuse of a house-elf couldn't even do his duty right and be loyal to his master.

"Mistress Bellatrix?"

He sounded kreacherish, of course, but also genuinely concerned. Sirius winced even more than the pain was already forcing him to, as he thought of how he had never been anything to the house-elf, when all the other children of the House of Black had been. His mother's doing, surely.

Sirius more or less managed to raise his head up, and began vomiting a black, dark, evil liquid.

It lasted at least twenty seconds.

Then Sirius Black felt pulled out. Freezing hooks were piercing his skin, or at least that was what it felt like, and some mysterious force was taking him out of the body he had been borrowing until now. Fear began to crawl in his head. He had no body to go back to. What would happen now?

The last pull was the worst. To be skinned alive was a joke, surely, compared to that.

When Sirius opened his eyes for the first time, he saw a bewildered Kreacher running to "Mistress Bellatrix?!" with a disgusting squeaking in his voice.

"Stop it immediately."

The house-elf stopped dead in his tracks at the order.

"Disappear from my sight. I won't have you running back to Cissy, though. So you stay here, in the house, but where I can't see nor hear you for now. Your punishment will be decided later on."

Kreacher mumbled something, but he was unusually polite all in all, looking at his master with something close to approval. When he disappeared, Sirius made a mental note to remember to investigate the house-elf's behavior. Kreacher would never had gone so mental as to suddenly approve of the blood traitor son of his Mistress. Not unless the filthy-scum-who-had-broken-his-mother's-heart had gone under a radical change of heart including an unwavering faith in blood purity and allegiance to Voldepants. And Sirius was pretty sure he had not decided to become a Death Eater nor to insult any half-blood or muggle-born during the last hours, so this was highly suspicious.

The wizard bent over Bella's body.

"Sorry, cousin dearest, but I'm not sorry at all. You shouldn't have killed me, and that's only one of your sins. You asked for it."

He closed her terrified eyes.

Then Sirius walked to the nearest mirror. He feared what he would see, but it couldn't be worse than being dead, or stuck in Bella's body, could it?

Luckily for him, no one was at Grimmauld Place this night, being way too busy at the Ministry. If someone had been, he doubted his arrival would have been welcomed. Firstly because he had looked like Bellatrix Lestrange while coming in. Second reason, because of what he saw at the moment.

He looked sick, sure, like he was going to puck his guts out, but he looked healthy at the same time. Sick, but nowhere as damaged as he had been in Azkaban. Nowhere as bad as after his escape from the world's safest wizarding prison. Nowhere as drained as he had looked, even after his slow recovery in this house, even with daily meals and healing potions.

It was... as if he had never been to Azkaban.

Well, he still had the memories, that at least was sure, and he wouldn't have minded losing them alongside with the physical damages, but it was something.

So, he looked about to throw up, and nothing more. His body, which was really his to his relief, and not some random body, since you never knew with magic, and you surely didn't know with a dark spell that three persons had succeeded in performing in all history, was still aching all over. But Sirius knew he was likely to suffer side effects from the Reciprocation curse.

The bloody thing had been powerful enough to bring his body back to this side of the Veil. Or maybe it had created a new body, similar to the last one. But it was definitely strong and fearsome dark magic. His recovery wasn't going to be nice. He could tell that much.

Watching his image in the mirror attentively, he saw that he had dark circles under his eyes that he had never had before Azkaban, not even after an all-nighter. His temples too seemed a bit hollow, when it had never been before. He worried it was due to the use of the Dark Arts.

Whatever, it wasn't as if he was planning to use dark magic ever again.

Sirius winced at the thought. He had said the same the first time. And the time after that. And...

He walked to the floo, trying not to think about his errors, and looked one last time at Bellatrix.

"Time to go, cousin."


	3. Blood on our hands - Knight of Blood

_After a battle against Death Eaters, Sirius is covered in blood. He really couldn't care less, but that doesn't mean he likes it._

* * *

 _Making a serie of one-shots in various fandoms, always about how a character who killed handle the blood on their hands. Here on ff, it's in the respective collection of OSs for each fandom, meaning, for Sirius, "Books of Magic"._

* * *

 **Blood on our hands - Knight of Blood**

Sirius let the door slam itself closed as he walked purposefully to the nearest sink. The last intervention of the Order against Voldemort's Death Eaters had ended in blood, again.

And, unsurprisingly, he was the one who trully needed to change before someone got to see the red liquid dripping off his hands, marring his clothes, leaving footprints on the cold stone of the floor. Remus was disheveled, Tonks would have an ugly bruise under her right eye by tomorrow morning, Moody had lost half his shirt and was bleeding a bit, but none of them were covered in blood.

Only him, Sirius thought wryly, as he got rid of his robe to see to what point his shirt was tainted crimson this time. He was the only one on this side of the war who always managed to get this bloody after a battle.

It may have something to do with the way he wasn't afraid to get close to his enemies for more physical interactions, like a punch in the nose or the occasional finger in the eye, before he actually hexed them, when the others tended to use long-range spells, and so, tended not to be splashed with blood every now and then. Personally, he thought the real reason why he fought this way was because he had a really good control of his apparition skills, being a lot more precise on his landing points than many people, and certainly not because he liked to be violent.

...Perhaps he did like beating the shit out of a few Death Eaters from time to time, but it was only an added bonus.

In Sirius' defense, he did get interesting results to go with his bloodied hands. None of his enemies ever expected him to apparate right next to them, and sometimes he managed to get their wand out of their hand before they could even begin to cast a spell. He got his hands dirty on occasion, sure, but it also prevented other situations from arising.

He started to scrub at the drying blood, never one to forget that he wasn't exactly in the right place to be seen covered in blood.

Sure, this late in the night, it wasn't very probable that a student would come by the Hospital Wing, but still. Madam Pomfrey tolerated for the members of the Order of the Phoenix to come when they were wounded and couldn't explain the injuries to St. Mungo's, yet there was no saying what she'd say if a student who didn't feel good saw a bloody Sirius Black washing his hands in the Hospital Wing. Moreover, Sirius wasn't injured, _ergo_ he wasn't exactly supposed to be here.

It wasn't as if he could knock at a door in Hogsmeade and ask if he could wash the blood off, though.

Sirius glanced deplorably at his reflection in the mirror, and couldn't refrain a wince.

There was a large, red, disturbing spray of blood on his left cheek.

To be frank, Sirius didn't really care about the blood. All in all, it was only a liquid. He could be covered in water, it'd be the same... Only, water didn't leave traces when it dried, and people didn't freak out if you were covered in it.

Obviously, he wasn't particularly pleased in being all drenched in red either. It was annoying, each time it happened he had a hard time getting the blood out of his clothes, and, worst of all, it usually meant that someone had died or had been severly injured.

And if Sirius wasn't that disturbed by the possiblity of having killed someone, because usually said someone hadn't given him a choice, he didn't like it for all that. The blood on his hands, it still was a testimony of the suffering he had caused, once again.

Perhaps they deserved it. Considering his victims had always been Death Eaters, Sirius could even say they had brought it upon themselves. He didn't regret doing what he had done. He didn't regret making them bleed.

But he would have liked it better if it could have gone another way, a way which didn't imply this suffering. He regretted not to have had a choice, not to be allowed another solution, if anything.

The blood, per se, didn't bother Sirius.

The fact that it had to be shed in the first place, did. The fact that the people it had belonged to hadn't found anything better to do with their life, did. The fact that this liquid of life was the reason so many people died in this war, did.

One instant, Sirius wondered if he shouldn't be worried that he didn't care about being drenched in blood. And, as always, his only answer was to wash it off his hands.


End file.
